inspirational

Inspirational poetry is just the thing to lift your spirits or rejuvenate your creativity.

The place I can breath
There are two worlds I live in. One feels tight, too close, too quiet. The other—wide open, humming with life. At home, silence sits heavy in the corners.
By minaalabout a year ago in Poets
The Graveyard of Forgotten Dreams
The Graveyard of Forgotten Dreams Night drapes its cloak across my shoulders, A fabric heavy with unseen sorrow, It moves slow through the corridors of memory,
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk about a year ago in Poets
𝔸 ℙ𝕣𝕒𝕪𝕖𝕣 𝔽𝕠𝕣 ℍ𝕚𝕞
Show him the sun that shines on his perfect imperfections Show him the Son who shines on him as his own image Make him know that he is not defined
By Colleen Waltersabout a year ago in Poets
The First Night: A Symphony of Collapse
Nothing... My surroundings are all in the dark. There is no escape Only an eternal solitude, But here, this world is very close though. I have a fine veil around me... Thongs of black and white, red. And at times, grey. I do not know where to flee, This is the whirlpool of the time, Sucking at the ringing of our bones. We, the race of humans Not angels, not beasts But he, man, lost in his bubble dreams, Walking creations of trembling fancies. And yet… Our layer is depth insulated. There we were buried in the rubble. Some of us Their hearts had simply dissipated. So how am I to know? I am but a human like you. I’ve wandered. I’ve mistaken. I’ve been wounded. My blood has been her instead of tears. Still, my voice runs dry, However, my veins are sore, However, my blood satisfies the thirst Of my body, And still… My scars gather themselves. I live yet under the rubble. My voice keeps on passing out in the wind. Not silent, But loud… Appeals to the souls, already dead, And others… Lost.
By LUCCIAN LAYTHabout a year ago in Poets
The Weight
Everything feels slightly off, like the world shifted half an inch while I wasn’t looking. The coffee tastes the same, but it doesn’t land right on my tongue. Even my own hands seem borrowed, as if they remember something I can’t return to.
By Printique Studiosabout a year ago in Poets
Relationship Peace and Personal Space
The most comfortable way to spend time together is actually the kind of love that brings the greatest peace of mind. It's not about talking from morning till night, constantly spouting endless nonsense. Instead, it's about both of you being busy with your own things and then sharing interesting things with each other.
By Emily Chan - Life and love sharingabout a year ago in Poets
When Etna Breathes Fire. Top Story - November 2025.
This week is one of introspection for many—on souls loved and lost. So, we pause to ponder the echoes of fire and ash. A volcano's eruption reminds us that even the strongest forces bear grief and must weaken to renew—and strengthen. The chaos reshapes land—and spirit.
By Michelle Liew Tsui-Linabout a year ago in Poets
The Flame That Wouldn't Die. AI-Generated.
This ghazal speaks of endurance — of love that refuses to fade even in absence. It captures that quiet ache of remembrance, where longing itself becomes a sacred flame. In the solitude of night, the poet’s heart continues to burn with devotion, transforming pain into light.
By heasb001about a year ago in Poets
Echoes Beneath the Dust. AI-Generated.
This ghazal unfolds in the quiet space between memory and longing. The poet speaks to a love that has left but never truly gone — its scent, its echo, and its light continue to inhabit every breath. The poem captures that delicate ache of remembering someone so deeply that even silence begins to whisper their name.
By heasb002about a year ago in Poets
When Dawn Remembers Love. AI-Generated.
This ghazal speaks of hope’s quiet endurance. Even through darkness and loss, the poet believes in the return of light — not as a distant miracle, but as something born from within the ashes of faith. It’s a whisper of renewal, where love becomes both the wound and the cure.
By Rahatweb Websiteabout a year ago in Poets
Quiet Like Fire
Quiet Like Fire You thought that strength was thunder—fists, a storm against the door, A battle cry on every breath, a boot across the floor.
By Milan Milicabout a year ago in Poets
The Deep Thinkers
The Deep Thinkers Who Breathe Through the Storm Part Two An Outstages Cafe They speak in sparks, not shallow streams, Their minds ignite forgotten dreams.
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli about a year ago in Poets